


Tales of Flowers and Blushing

by helenamanniing



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Flowers, Ravens POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenamanniing/pseuds/helenamanniing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is not particularly a big fan of flowers. I know this better than anyone, having witnessed her throw out several bouquets and coming home almost rudely early from the dates that had gotten them for her. So one might understand my surprise when I get home to our shared apartment and there’s a beautiful flower bouquet in an even prettier vase sitting on our coffee table, right in the middle of the living room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Flowers and Blushing

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't proof-read the last bit so if you find any mistakes please just point them out to me! Any continuity mistakes or something like that, too!

Clarke is not particularly a big fan of flowers. I know this better than anyone, having witnessed her throw out several bouquets and coming home almost rudely early from the dates that had gotten them for her. So one might understand my surprise when I get home to our shared apartment and there’s a beautiful flower bouquet in an even prettier vase sitting on our coffee table, right in the middle of the living room.

“Clarke?” I call out carefully, not entirely sure that there’s not a very polite robber in our apartment. Clarke comes walking out of the kitchen, drying off her hands with a not-so-clean looking towel (laundry day is coming up again).

“Hey, Raven. How was work?” Clarke says, but I just raise an eyebrow at her and nod at the flowers. Clarke smiles back a little bit too innocently.

“What?” A tiny blush is already crawling up her cheeks.

“What are those?”

“Flowers.” Clarke says sarcastically. I sigh and raise my eyebrow again, smirking knowingly.

“I know they’re flowers. You _hate_ flowers, Clarke.” The blush on Clarke’s cheeks gets a little deeper now.

“I don’t _hate_ flowers.”

“You don’t like them.” Clarke just shrugs at that. Like I’m personally offending her by saying that she doesn’t like flowers. Whoever has gotten these flowers for Clarke, she is seriously smitten with the lucky person.

“I just think it’s strange to give someone something that is only pretty for a few days and then dies.” Clarke argues. It’s not a very good argument, considering Clarke never complains about dates getting her chocolates and those never last more than a few _hours_ in this apartment.

“Who got them for you?” I ask, smirk still in place.

“No one got them for me, actually. I got them myself.” Now _that’s_ a surprise, alright. Even if Clarke _would_ know where to even find a flower shop, she would never go in voluntarily. I try to find a reason for Clarke to _buy_ flowers, but don’t manage to find one.

“What do you mean you got them yourself?” 

“I mean I walked into a flower shop and bought these flowers.” Clarke is still blushing a little bit and looking at the floor with an almost dopey smile on her face and I can honestly say that I am completely lost.

*

It’s only three days later that there is not one, but _two_ bouquets of flowers sitting on our coffee table. Clarke is sitting on the couch, looking from them to the screen of her laptop balancing on her legs and back to the flowers. She stares at the flowers so intensely that she doesn’t even notice me standing in the middle of the living room, not even seven feet away from her.

“What are you doing?” I ask after a few seconds of watching Clarke watching flowers. Clarke’s head snaps up with so much ferocity that I’m honestly a little worried about whiplash or something. She slams her laptop shut and clears her throat a little awkwardly.

“Nothing.”  Clarke replies after a while, blushing heavily.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” I chuckle and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately (I’m gonna go ahead and just assume it’s affectionate anyway).

“I’m going to cook dinner now.” Clarke says as she gets up from the couch and places her laptop on the coffee table. It’s predictable of Clarke, just walking out of a conversation if she’s not interested in having it. And Clarke wouldn’t be Clarke if she didn’t hide things from me that have anything to do with her love-life.

Then again, I wouldn’t be Raven Reyes if I didn’t find out anyway. I shoot a quick glance towards the kitchen, but when I don’t hear anything besides Clarke’s loud off-key singing and the clatter of Clarke’s messy cooking, I walk over to the coffee table and pick Clarke’s laptop up before letting myself fall down on the couch and opening it. It’s password protected, but thank god Clarke is about as predictable as she is secretive about her love life. _Jakegriffin1234_. I type in the password quickly and glance towards the kitchen. When I hear nothing but Clarke bustling around the kitchen I glance back towards the laptop. There are a few tabs open (also a few incognito ones, but knowing Clarke I’d rather not look at those), a google search of the meanings of flowers and at least five different websites on the same subject. Before I can check any of them, I hear Clarke’s footsteps and I slam the laptop shut and almost throw it back on the coffee table. Clarke enters the room with raised eyebrows and a suspicious look in her eyes, but doesn’t comment.

“I thought you were cooking dinner?”  I say awkwardly after a few seconds of Clarke staring at me.

“Yeah, I was. Just thought I’d grab my laptop and put it back in my room.” Clarke says, still eyeing me suspiciously. She doesn’t say anything as she grabs her laptop from the coffee table and walks away, throwing another squinting look over her shoulder before she disappears through the door to her bedroom.

When I sneak into her room two days later, she’s changed the password on her laptop.

*

One flower bouquet surprised me a little. Two of them shocked me. But when I get home to _three_ bouquets in our apartment I’m honestly a little scared. Clarke is nowhere to be found, too, even though she should’ve been home from work an hour earlier. It’s the first time I have the chance to actually _look_ at the flowers. Clarke is strangely protective of them, especially considering she’s put them in the living room where they’re not exactly hidden. They’re definitely pretty bouquets, as far as I can tell with my limited knowledge about flowers. When I get a little closer, I see a little card hanging from one of the flowers. I extend my hand almost on instinct and lean in so I can look at the card. I don’t fold it open (hacking into her laptop is enough invasion of privacy for one week), but the front has a name on it. I assume it’s the name of the shop it came from.

_Trigedakru flowers_

It sounds like a strange name, but any store that has _Clarke_ buying three flower bouquets has to be at least a _little_ bit strange. Before I can think on it, I hear a key turning in the lock and Clarke comes walking in with take-out from that amazing Thai place on the other side of town and I’m too busy drooling and (metaphorically) kissing the ground beneath Clarke’s feet to think about such trivial things like flowers and Clarke’s love life.

*

I don’t _look_ for the shop, alright? I just happen to walk by it—My regular coffee shop is closed for some reason and the weather is nice and—Anyway, I walk by the flower shop with the strange name and I decide to take a look at the store that has managed to sell so many flowers (There are four bouquets and two houseplants now) to someone who doesn’t even _like_ flowers. So I walk in. Sue me, it’s a free country. (I may feel a little guilty for sticking my nose in Clarke’s business). (I still go in).

A little bell over the door alerts anyone in the tiny shop of my arrival. There are flowers _everywhere_ , with only a small path that leads directly to the register between them. It smells sweet and nice, although the scent is a little strong. I walk carefully towards the register, making sure not to step on any flowers. There’s no one behind the register, but I can hear some sounds in the back of the store. So far I haven’t seen anything that would attract Clarke yet and I’m only getting more confused than I already was. I ring a little bell on the counter and it only takes seconds before someone appears from a door behind the counter and walks up to me. And _then_ I get it. Because honestly that girl could probably turn _me_ and I know Clarke and I _know_ that Clarke probably tripped over herself walking into this store when she found out that this girl worked here (literally, she has severe balance problems when cute girls are involved). She has brown, curly hair draped over her shoulder and eyes that don’t really seem to have _one_ distinct color. I might not know much about this girl, but I damn sure know Clarke and this girl, with her large eyes and a bone structure that I’m quite frankly a little bit jealous of, is definitely Clarke’s type.

“Can I help you?” The girl says after a while, sounding a little irritated. She looks like the kind of girl that would be used to people staring at her. I know how Clarke gets around cute girls so she’s definitely used to one girl in particular staring at her.

“U-Uh yeah.”  I say after a few seconds, kind of panicking at the realization that I have no idea what to do now. I probably should’ve planned this a lot better. When I don’t say anything else, the girl raises her eyebrows and looks at me with a look that would probably be intimidating hadn’t there been millions of colourful flowers around us. To be honest, she doesn’t look like a flower kind of person. She looks like a badass kind of person. Not that those two are in any way mutually exclusive of course, but still. She doesn’t look like a flower kind of person.

“A friend recommended the place. I just thought I’d check it out and see what the fuzz was about.” I say quickly. I’ve always been pretty good under pressure, if I do say so myself.

“What friend?” The girl asks, looking genuinely surprised that someone recommended the shop to anyone.

“Clarke.” As soon as the word leaves my lips, the girl blushes deeply and gets a small smile on her face. It’s the first time she’s smiled since I came in here and I’m pretty sure it’s not because of my natural charm.

“You’re a friend of Clarke’s?” The girl asks, trying and amusingly failing at hiding her excitement. It’s like telling a puppy you’re taking them on a walk.

“Yeah, I was going to pick up some flowers for her. Since she loves the _flowers_ here so much.” I say and the girl frowns for only the flash of a second, before she manages to look disinterested again. Her jaw is clenched a little more tightly than before, though. Jealousy is not a bad look on her. Although, if I’m being honest, I don’t think anything is a bad look on this girl.

“Actually make that two bouquets. Wouldn’t want my boyfriend to get jealous.” I quickly add. Snooping in Clarke’s not-quite-yet-love-life is one thing, ruining it because the girl thinks I’m interested in Clarke is another. Again, it’s only a flash of a second, but I’m sure I see a relieved smile pass over the girl’s face as she turns around to a table surrounded by countless amounts of different flowers. She looks at the table intently for a few seconds and _now_ she does look like a flower kind of girl. She looks so incredibly invested in making this bouquet, studying every flower she picks up before tying them all together in something that somehow actually reminds me of Clarke.

“This one is for Clarke.” The girl says without further explanation.

“What does your boyfriend like?” The girl asks once she’s placed Clarke’s flowers carefully on the counter, slipping in a card when she thinks I’m not looking. I have to keep myself from smiling again and almost forget that she’s asked me a question until she raises her eyebrows at me.

“U-Uh on second thought he doesn’t like flowers that much. I’ll just get him some chocolates instead.” I make up quickly when I realize that flowers are not exactly cheap and buying flowers only to keep up the pretence of not being interested in Clarke seems like a waste of money. The girl seems to believe me anyway and nods, handing me the flowers while I grab my wallet out of my back pocket. She raises her hand and shakes her head resolutely.

“That’s okay. They’re on the house for Clarke.”  The girl blushes a little when she says Clarke’s name. I smile knowingly at her as I grab the flowers and walk out of the shop.

*

When I get home, Clarke is already there. She’s laying on the couch with her feet dangling of one end and her eyes trained on the television. She doesn’t even look up when I come in until I clear my throat. She looks up at me with a surprised look. After a few seconds she seems to register that I have something in my hands. When her eyes settle on the flowers a blush crawls up her cheeks. Honestly, the blushing is getting a little out of hand these days.

“I got you flowers.”  I go for a dead-pan tone. The one I know drives Clarke crazy. I smirk mischievously as she gets up from the couch, still looking at the flowers in my hands.

“I understand the whole flower-obsession now.” I add nonchalantly after a few seconds and Clarke’s eyes finally snap back to my own as her face gets even redder than before. She looks back at the flowers and I sigh dramatically before sticking the bouquet out towards her.

“Fine, look at them. She put a card in it.” Clarke blushes an even impossibly darker shade of red and takes the flowers from my hands. She looks at every flower carefully, smiling as her fingers trace some of the petals.

“What the hell are you even doing?” I ask after she’s been looking at one flower in particular for at least two minutes, deep in thought. Clarke doesn’t answer, but seems to mull over something in her mind. And then I realize.

 “Oh my god!” I yell way too loudly for our close proximity. Clarke seems to think so too, because she jumps and reels back a few feet.

“What?” Clarke looks at me with a completely clueless look on her face. I’m just smirking knowingly back at her.

“That’s why you were looking up what all those flowers meant. Flower girl makes all of those bouquets for you and you think they mean something!” My voice is still a little louder than usual and Clarke lowers her eyes to the floor with a small smile on her face, before her head snaps back up all of a sudden.

“I _knew_ you were snooping around on my laptop!” Clarke yells accusingly. I raise my eyebrows and nod.

“Yup, I was.” I shrug in a way that _could_ be considered vaguely apologetic.

“I also got you flowers, though.” I nod at the flowers and Clarke looks down at them before huffing indignantly and pointing at me with the hand not holding the flowers.

“We are not done here.” Clarke says, but I can see in her eyes that she’s already not mad anymore.

*

“So what’s her name?” I ask that night over dinner. Clarke hasn’t stopped smiling ever since I came home with the flowers and it would be kind of cute if she hadn’t somehow manage to fuck up heating up our left-over pizza, because she was too busy putting the flowers into a vase one by one.

“Lexa.”  Clarke just says, smiling down at her plate in a way that reminds me of teenagers with their first crush.

“Are you going to ask her out?” I ask next, because subtlety has never really been one of my strengths, nor is Clarke very good at picking it up usually. Clarke almost chokes on her food at the question and coughs for at least a minute, though, so there was probably a better way for me to handle that situation.

“No!” She says a little too forcefully after she’s finally stopped coughing. Her face is red, although I’m not sure if it’s because of the coughing or because of the current topic of our conversation.

“Why not?” I ask, genuinely surprised. If I know one thing about Clarke, it’s that she’s pretty damn direct. And when she likes someone, she fucking goes for it. Well, usually she does anyway.

“Because—Well, I’m not even sure she’s into girls. And she’s like—“ I swear to god I _try_ not to laugh at that argument, but it’s so ridiculous that I honestly can’t help myself. Clarke raises her eyebrow at me when I don’t stop laughing after a few seconds.

“Sorry, it’s just—You really think she’s not into you?” I ask after a few seconds, still snickering with every word. Clarke looks at me like I’ve gone crazy and I suppose that pretty much answers my question.

“You’re kidding right? She’s like crazy into you. You should’ve seen the look on her face when I said I was a friend of yours. Or when she thought I was buying _you_ flowers. I had to make up some excuse about a boyfriend, because I was honestly scared that she might kill me.” I say and with every word the smile on Clarke’s face gets a little dreamier and the blush on her cheeks a little redder.

“And seriously, what’s with the fucking _blushing_ all the time. I thought it was just you, but she got just as red in the face when I mentioned your name. It’s kind of annoying really.” I say, still smiling so Clarke knows I’m not (entirely) serious.

“I might text her.” Clarke says, pushing the food on her plate around with her fork.

“You have her number?” I can’t say I’m not surprised at that.

“She wrote it in the card I got with the flowers today.” Clarke says nonchalantly and I roll my eyes, before mumbling,

“’ I don’t know if she’s into me’, my ass.”

*

I like to think that Clarke and I are best friends. We do all the best friend-things they do on TV, like go shopping together (which is mostly just Clarke dragging me to the mall only to end up in tiny, obscure art shops) and eating brownies together (the ones that just have you adding water, because both of us can’t bake for shit) and tell each other stuff and whatever else best friends do together. But I can honestly say that Clarke has not once in her life _come_ to me for advice on her love-life (which doesn’t mean that I haven’t given her any), until now. It’s three days after Clarke said she might text Lexa when she bursts into my room with a desperate look in her eyes and her phone clutched in her hand.

“I don’t know how to text.” Clarke utters after a few seconds, which makes me laugh so hard I nearly fall of the bed. Clarke just huffs and sits down next to me on my bed.

“What’s so funny about that?” Clarke is pouting a little bit, which only serves to make me laugh even harder. After a few minutes Clarke painfully pokes me in my belly and I quickly sit up and glare at her, before sobering up a bit.

“You’re serious? You don’t think it’s funny how this girl has turned you into a blubbering flower-buying blushing loser who doesn’t know how to text anymore? Because I think it’s hila—“ I get cut off by Clarke punching my shoulder violently and glaring at me.

“No, I don’t think that’s funny.” Clarke says, still glaring.

“Oww—That hurt.” I say, pouting exaggeratedly and rubbing my arm. Clarke finally cracks a smile at that.

“That’s pretty funny, though.” Clarke lets out a small chuckle. I stick my tongue out at her. Clarke looks like she’s about to say something else or maybe stick out her tongue as well, but then her eyes fall on her phone again and she seems to realize what she came here for in the first place because she sighs loudly and kicks her feet in the air.

“You have to help me.” She says eventually. I puff out my chest and sit up a little straighter so I’m looking down on Clarke.

“Of course, young grasshopper. Let me teach you the way of flirting.” Clarke rolls her eyes at this, but still raises her eyebrows in a gesture for me to go on.

“Okay, what have you guys been texting about?” I ask, gesturing towards Clarke’s phone. Clarke’s face goes red and she shrugs before mumbling something inaudible. I make a face at Clarke and shake my head a little.

“Speak up, grasshopper.” I say after a while when it doesn’t look like Clarke is going to repeat herself on her own volition.

“Nothing, because I didn’t know what to text her.” Clarke near-yells eventually, although she says it so quickly that it comes out more like one word rather than an entire sentence.

“You mean to tell me that you have been thinking about this for three days and you still don’t know what to send her?” I say, pressing my lips together in a desperate attempt to stop myself from laughing. It’s not like I’m genuinely laughing at Clarke’s pain, not really. It’s just that Clarke is usually brash and fearless in her love life. She has no problem asking guys out or hitting on cute waitresses. Clarke never waits before calling when she’s interested in someone, because she thinks it’s bullshit to pretend you don’t care when you do. But this girl, this _Lexa_ , changed her entire way of behaving and watching Clarke flounder around in this undiscovered territory is honestly the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.

Regardless of how humorous the situation is, I still decide to help.

“Maybe.” Clarke eventually answers, before huffing again and letting herself fall back on my bed.

“Give me your phone.” I say, holding out my hand towards Clarke’s iPhone. Clarke looks at me like I’m crazy.

“No.” She also _sounds_ like I’m crazy. I roll my eyes and launch at her, wringing the phone out of her hands before she even has time to respond. I jump up with the phone still in my hand and run away, locking the bathroom door behind me just as Clarke gets off the bed and starts yelling.

“RAVEN! Give me back my phone, you bitch. I swear to god if you text her, I will kill you with your favourite screwdriver!” Clarke bangs on the door repeatedly while I type out a quick message.

To Lexa  
_Hey, this is Clarke. I was wondering if you maybe wanted to get a cup of coffee sometime._

I send the message before Clarke can _actually_ get angry, because I´m actually pretty afraid my bathroom door isn´t going to hold for very long under Clarke Griffin´s wrath. I open the door and Clarke trips forward. I step around her and hand her the phone back, before she regains herself from almost face-planting the bathroom floor and walk back into my bedroom.

“You’re welcome.” I yell out towards Clarke, who comes running after me in mere seconds.

“I am going to kill you.” She says from the doorstep of my room, looking at me with more fire in her eyes than when she found out about me and Finn. She walks towards me dreadfully slowly, but I just stare at her from my spot on my bed.

“Oh I’m so scared.” I say, raising my hand to my forehead and pretending to faint, before laughing out loud. Clarke jumps on top of me and we struggle for a while, Clarke’s anger fuelling her so she ends up on top of me (obviously I’m stronger and if Clarke hadn’t been _this_ angry, I totally would’ve won). Before Clarke can perform one of her mean bullying tactics (most of them including her saliva and my face or noogies) though, her phone vibrates in her hand and she turns all of her attention towards the phone and away from me. She gets off of me and sits down on the edge of the bed while staring at her phone. After unlocking it and reading what I’m guessing is a text from Lexa, her face lights up. I sit up as well and read the text over Clarke’s shoulder.

From Lexa  
_Hello Clarke. I would love to. I’m free this Friday._

I can’t stop a proud grin from forming on my face (not that I really try).

“And what do we say then?” I say, Clarke’s head snapping up from her phone.

“I still hate you.” Clarke doesn’t sound or look angry anymore, though, and the crinkles around her eyes suggest that she’s not serious.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Thank you, Raven’ or ‘Raven, you are a genius and the best friend anyone has ever had the pleasure of having’, but I guess what you said works too.” Clarke laughs at me and punches my shoulder playfully(a lot softer this time).

“Thanks.” She says after a while.

*

Clarke and Lexa go on their date. Clarke worries about what to wear for at least two hours and then takes another hour applying make-up before taking most of it off again, because “no one goes to a coffee date with this much make-up on”. But eventually she goes and she comes back three hours later with a smile that could probably serve as that independent power source I’ve been trying to create and a new bouquet of flowers that’s prettier than all of the other combined.

“How was your date?” This question later turns out to be a mistake, considering Clarke can literally _not shut up_ about the date.

“It was great! I was a little scared before to call it a date, but Lexa called it a date while we were on the date so I guess that’s good, right? Yes, it’s good. She looked so cute, Raven! She had these cute little braids in her hair and she—“ After that I stop listening, but I keep Hmm-ing and nodding and saying ‘oh, really?’ every few minutes for the entire time she talks. Which is all throughout cooking dinner. And eating dinner. And sitting in the living room after dinner. And I’m pretty sure it would have lasted until the next fucking morning had I not excused myself to go to bed eventually.

*

One date become several. After that first date, it’s Lexa who texts Clarke to ask her if she wants to go out to dinner. Clarke comes home that night and talks a lot less this time, although her smile is somehow even wider. They go on three more dates, until one night Clarke doesn’t come home until the next morning and I’m left on my own in our apartment smirking to myself and whispering,

“Go get ‘em, Clarke.”

*

They become official after six dates. I am the first one Clarke tells and I’m there when she tells everyone else over skype. Octavia squeals and promises she’s coming to visit soon, because she just _has_ to see this girl. Bellamy smirks and tells Clarke that he’s happy for her. Jasper just asks for a picture and when Clarke says she would send one later he turns to me and asks me if the girl is hot. At my nod, he tries to give Clarke a high five through the camera. Monty smiles his adorable smile and tells all of us that he’s actually just met a new guy, too.

The thing is that Clarke doesn’t really tell the whole crew unless it’s serious. It’s not like she doesn’t want them to know, it’s just that Clarke has a _lot_ of dates. And most of those dates end up being one night-stands or just complete over-all flops. Clarke hasn’t really had any serious relationships since Finn, who I was also having a serious relationship with at the same time so that probably wasn’t very good for her trust.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that something about the way Clarke talks about Lexa, makes me think that this could be it for her.

*

“Lexa is coming by for dinner tonight.” Clarke says, trying and failing so, so miserably at being nonchalant. I can see it in the way her hand is clutching the TV remote and in the way her teeth can’t _not_ be hurting from how hard she is pressing them together. Clarke is nervous. Which is probably also why she waited until an hour before dinner to tell me that Lexa was joining us. I just shrug.

“Fine by me, as long as I don’t have to cook.” Clarke chuckles nervously and shakes her head.

“No, I will. You just have to talk to her and most importantly, _play nice._ ” Clarke’s nervous tone is almost completely gone by the end of the sentence. She sounds a little intimidating, to be honest.

“I always play nice.” I say, which is inherently _not_ true. Clarke also seems to know this, because she just makes a face at me and gets up to go to the kitchen. I stick out my tongue as soon as she’s out of sight.

“And don’t stick your tongue out so much. It looks dumb.” Clarke yells from the kitchen. And I stick out my tongue at that.

*

Lexa brings flowers, which is really unnecessary considering _our entire fucking apartment is full of them_ , but I decide to ‘play nice’ and thank her anyway. Clarke came out of the kitchen when she heard the knock and is now standing behind me looking at Lexa with an affectionate smile.

“Hey, babe.” Clarke kisses Lexa on the cheek, which gets a little blush from Lexa even though they’ve already been together for a few weeks. God, these two are like teenagers in their first relationship. Lexa and I follow Clarke towards the kitchen and sit down at the dinner table. Clarke is (to put it lightly) a terrible cook. She experiments way too much and half the time I can’t even recognize what I’m eating. However, she has a few recipes that her grandfather taught her that she can cook to _perfection_. One of them being these _amazing_ fajitas that Clarke is plating right now. Lexa and I sit across from each other a little awkwardly until Clarke places our plates in front of us and we start eating. Clarke has apparently gotten over the initial too-awkward-to-talk phase with Lexa, because she is chatting happily now. Lexa doesn’t say much, but answers politely when I ask her something. After we’re all done eating Clarke gets up and takes away our plates and I lean in towards Lexa. Lexa seems a little taken aback, looking at me suspiciously.

“You better be good to her.” I just say, because I’ve never really been good at that whole ‘best-friend-talk’. Mostly because Clarke has always been perfectly able to take care of herself and there really haven’t been a lot of occasions for me to even _have_ this talk. But something about Lexa makes me feel like I don’t really have to be good at this. She gets it anyway.

“I will.” Lexa says, her voice devoid of any emotion except maybe sincerity. I nod.

*

Clarke is three months into the relationship when she comes home from Lexa’s one morning nearly hyperventilating.

“She wants to meet my mom.” She just says before collapsing on the couch. She looks up at the ceiling and sighs. I just laugh.

“So?”

“So I don’t want her to meet my mom.” Clarke says as she sits up a little bit and glares at me. I know Clarke’s relationship with her mother has been strained to say the least since her dad died, but I’ve always gotten along with Abby (and let’s be honest, she’s the textbook example of a cougar so that’s not too bad).

“Why not?”

“Because!” Clarke says like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Aren’t you serious about Lexa and you?” Clarke scoffs at that.

“Of course I’m serious about her, I lo—“ Clarke claps a hand over her mouth around the same time that I gasp dramatically.

“YOU LOVE HER!” I yell even though Clarke is not more than three feet away from me. Clarke looks at me with wide eyes and her hand still clasped over her mouth. Slowly she removes her hand and looks at me.

“I love her.” She says quietly and I laugh out loud at her.

“You love her.” It’s not much of a surprise to me, really. But it’s a surprise to Clarke. More the fact that she loves anyone like _that_ than the fact that it’s Lexa, I think.

“We’ve only been together for three months.” I shrug.

“So?” Clarke cracks a tiny smile.

“Good point.” Clarke sighs and lets herself fall back onto the couch until she’s lying down and tugs on my arm until I do the same.

“I love Lexa.” Clarke whispers and I chuckle.

“You love Lexa.” We lie there for a long time and I can almost _hear_ the wheels turning in Clarke’s head, but it’s okay. She has a lot to figure out for herself. I know she’s not going to tell Lexa for a while. Even if only because of her previous (and terrible) experiences with saying those words. I don’t judge her for it. Honestly, I’m not really the person to judge someone else for that anyway. So we just lie there side by side until finally I say,

“Well now you’re definitely going to have to introduce her to your mom.”

*

Lexa does meet Clarke’s mother. And Clarke meets Lexa’s uncle, which is the only family Lexa still talks to apparently (I decided it wasn’t my place to ask). And they meet each other’s friends, which I really respect Lexa for. Anyone willing to go through the torture that is both Blake siblings in protective mode is someone worthy of Clarke’s heart.

*

After Clarke realized she loved Lexa, it took her three more months to tell Lexa.

“I told her last night.” Clarke says it casually while we’re eating dinner, but looks at me with a smile that’s not at _all_ casual.

“I assume she said it back.” I say with my mouth still half-full and Clarke nods violently.

“Good. Otherwise I’d have to go _all_ the way to the other side of town to beat her up right now and I’m not really feeling that.” Clarke laughs out loud and I notice that she’s _happy_. Happier than she’s been in a long time, I think.

*

Lexa and Clarke are like fucking rabbits. I didn’t realize for the first few months, when they were still being careful. But now—after having been together for almost a year (and apparently the passion is still alive), they’re a lot less careful. Which leaves for some _pretty_ awkward morning after’s and when I walk in on them for the fifth time in one month, I’ve had it. I close my eyes and turn around immediately.

“CLARKE, EITHER YOU MOVE OUT OR I DO.” I yell through the door before power-walking back to my own bedroom and trying to forget the images burned into my brain.

*

Eventually it’s Clarke who moves out and despite having demanded it myself, I’m still a little sad to see my best friend go. All of her stuff in boxes and Lexa walking out with the last one, mumbling something about letting us say goodbye. She’s a good kid. Clarke turns back and looks at me. There are little tiny tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Griffin. You’re moving across town, not to the other side of the world.” I say, even though I’m a little sentimental too.

“Still. It kind of feels like the end to an era or something, right?” Clarke says and I nod.

“Also the start of a new one, though.” I say and gesture towards the door through which Lexa just disappeared and Clarke smiles bashfully.

“I’m going to miss living with you.” She whispers.

“Me too.” I say and Clarke seems a little surprised that I’m saying something serious.

“What? I can be serious! Just because I’ve seen your naked butt or heard Lexa moan way too many times over the last few months doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss you.” Clarke laughs at that and looks over my shoulder towards the door, where I find a blushing Lexa once I turn around.

“Not my fault.” She mumbles, which only makes Clarke and me laugh harder.

*

The one that eventually pops the big question is Lexa. I’m not surprised, although most other people are. If I know anything about Lexa (and I like to think I do after almost two years), it’s that she loves Clarke. And it’s not a surprise to _anyone_ when Clarke answer is  a complete and wholehearted yes.

*

“Are you ready?” Octavia asks Clarke, even though all three of us know the answer.

“Yeah.” Clarke nods and smiles, glancing towards her mother. They’d put their differences aside for today, because deep down Clarke still loved her mother and had wanted the woman to give her away at her wedding. And Abby stuck out her arm to do exactly that.

“We love you.” I say just before we go into the small church and Clarke smiles at us.

“I love you guys, too.”

*

The ceremony is beautiful and heartfelt and emotional, which are things I’m not exactly a fan of. But it fits. The reception is also nice, although I spend most of it worrying about the speech I’ve been asked to give after most people have finished their dinner. Which is about now. After taking a deep breath, I stand up and tap the side of my champagne glass with my fork like they always do in the movies. It works, because the quiet murmur that had been going on quiets down. I find Clarke’s eyes at the head of the table, her hand firmly clasped in Lexa’s and take another deep breath.

“I was asked to give a speech. Which surprised me a little at first. So I asked Clarke why they would ask me for something this important and she said ‘You’ve been there from the start’. And I guess that’s true. In fact, I would now like to let everyone know that if it hadn’t been for me, Clarke would still be sitting around too nervous to send that cute flower girl a text.” That gets a laugh out of the audience.

“The truth is, I’ve known Clarke for most of my life. I’m not going to talk about how we met, because that’s not a very fun story…” Clarke smiled, “but let me just say that up until two years ago there was no one on this planet that knew Clarke better than I did. But even if you talked to someone that didn’t know Clarke very well back then, they could have told you what I’m about to say. Clarke was not bad at flirting.” Mostly laughs, a playful glare from her mother and a little blush on Clarke’s cheeks.

“And then she met Lexa. And Lexa somehow turned Clarke’s entire life upside down in front of my eyes. And all of a sudden she had Clarke buying flowers. Multiple bouquets a week, I might add, just so she could see the girl who made them for her. And she had Clarke blushing almost every day if anyone ever asked her about the flowers. And she had Clarke smiling this goofy smile all the time. And even though there were many dinners burned around this time, and way too much money spent on flowers, Clarke was happy.” The audience laughs and then aww’s

“And Clarke stayed happy with Lexa. And then eventually she moved in with Lexa. And while Lexa was downstairs packing boxes into a moving truck, Clarke said to me—and I’ll always remember this purely for the sheer comical value of the statement—She said ‘I think she could be it for me, Raven’. And I laughed so hard at this and Clarke _glared_ at me so angrily. When I eventually stopped laughing Clarke just looked at me with this angry look and I said ‘Are you kidding? Of course she’s it for you, you idiot. Everyone else has known that for at least six months now!’. “ The entire audience roars with laughter. Weddings are easy crowds, apparently.

“So I want to toast to you guys. To Clarke, because I love you and you have been my best friend since we were young and because you deserve this happiness more than anyone. To Lexa, because you’re the only person that could have possibly made her this happy. And to your story, I’ve been lucky to witness it from so close. I hope your happiness lasts forever.”

*

Clarke hugs me later and tugs on Lexa’s sleeve until she joins in. We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds before Clarke pulls away and drags Lexa to the dancefloor. I smile at them and at how happy they are.

It really was a great love story to witness.

(And just a little bit sappy)


End file.
